A day in the jungle
by AnCa
Summary: They go through the gate, and get into trouble. This time featuring killer red plants. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

Set in season three, tiniest of tiny spoilers for 'The Intruder'. No pairings but a nice dose of h/c for the boys :) No warnings unless you're scared of plants (or had nightmares after reading John Wyndham's novels, if you've read them, you'll get it ;))

This story will always be known in my head as the 'fic that went Rodney'. I was ord-requested to write a Sheppard whump fic. Whilst Sheppard gets whumped alot in this fic, it somehow turned into a Rodney story. He gets whumped too of course. Ah well :) Many thanks to Rachel who not only looked over this chapter and whipped it into shape (ow btw) but also sent me cookies :)

* * *

Rodney's only concession to his mechanistic view of the universe was that once in a while, it developed just enough personality to hate him. It didn't take a lot (look at Kavanagh). And today, the universe was obviously even more pissed at him than usual, because he was running through a goddamn jungle, breathless and packless, with a certain Colonel (who weighed a lot more than he looked) balanced precariously over his shoulder. 

The mission had begun on a sunny day in mid-November (Earth calendar). It was early morning planetside, and they'd left the jumper behind in favour of walking. Not that there had been much of an option; the entire planet was covered in trees. Trees and trees and would you have guessed it? More trees! It was dull, boring, and far too hot. Rodney had taken comfort in complaining until Sheppard gave him the look that said 'shut up or I'll get Ronon to shoot you', and Ronon backed it up with a 'you know I will' glare of his own. Rodney, with his keen sense of self-preservation, had taken the hint.

And about five minutes later, they ran into the _things_.

The first sign of trouble was an animal, something resembling a small deer, lying dead a few metres in front of them. Slumped across it was a huge flower, large red petals draped over its neck like some monstrous napkin. From its stem protruded two limb-like leaves, and fastened to these were brown nodules, each about the size of a child's fist. Aside from the sheer size of the thing, (it would be a good four feet tall when upright), it had seemed quite innocuous.

It was only when they got close and the plant _stood up_ that Rodney realised they might be in trouble.

The petals rose from the corpse, leaving a sticky patch of red where the centre of the flower had been. This centre, they saw, was oozing something sickly yellow, and about half a foot down the stem was a small black-blue orb, jelly-like and glistening, and scarily reminiscent of . . .

"Oh shit," Sheppard cursed, stopping dead, "is that an _eye_?"

If it wasn't, it was a damn good imitation. There was no visible pupil, but the whole thing could have been one huge one. The flower swayed gently in the breeze. No one moved.

"It's only a plant," Ronon muttered, but his hand was moving towards his blaster, "It's not dangerous."

No, except that Rodney didn't use to think that clouds were dangerous, either. Then one started wandering round his neighbourhood and sucking the life out of people. It had looked about as friendly as this flower.

Rodney waited as Sheppard stared at it for a minute. The plant stared right on back.

"Alright," the Colonel began, starting to move into the trees to their left. Ronon passed Rodney to follow suit. "Let's just—"

He didn't get any further because the plant _leaned back_, and then, like some damn baseball pitcher, swung its limbs forward to hurl several of the brown nodules at them. One hit Sheppard and exploded in a cloud of what looked like pine needles. Some hit the floor, a few got stuck in Ronon, and a _lot_ got stuck in Sheppard, dozens of them stabbing into his arms, neck, and chest. Sheppard stumbled back with a cry, curling in on himself; Rodney caught him before he could fall.

Then the roots of the . . . _thing_ slid outof the soil and started to move, pulling the plant along like some freakish beached octopus, and fast. That's when Rodney slung Sheppard's arm over his shoulder, Teyla grabbed Ronon, and they ran like hell.

* * *

Rodney wasn't sure when he lost sight of Teyla. There were so many trees, and Sheppard seemed to have lost all sense of balance. By the time Rodney realised that they were alone and there were no red flowers in sight, he couldn't go back because he didn't know which way they'd come. So he let the Colonel's arm drop from his shoulders and helped him settle against a tree trunk before pulling out his radio. "Teyla? Ronon?" 

He was more than a little relieved when Teyla responded immediately. "Rodney! Where are you?"

Like an idiot, he looked round, as though a signpost might be lurking somewhere. "I don't know, somewhere with trees?"

"Rodney."

"Well what do you expect me to say? They don't exactly have GPS in the Pegasus galaxy."

Teyla, as ever, ignored both the Earth reference and Rodney's attitude. "Fire your gun into the air. I will try to work out your position."

He didn't ask about the "I," just did as he was told. It seemed wrong to make such a bang when everything was so quiet. "Teyla? Did you hear that?"

A pause, then, "Yes . . . but it is hard. There are so many trees. You are at least half a mile away." Really? Apparently the three or four times a week (on average) he ran for his life were starting to pay off. "Try again."

Finally, after three more efforts, he and Teyla reached the conclusion that regrouping wasn't going to happen. "Perhaps we should both head to the Stargate? Ronon is . . . not well. But I believe we can make it. How is the Colonel?"

Sheppard? He turned back to the tree trunk, which he'd been ignoring in favour of watching out for more red plants. The Colonel was picking ineffectually at his sleeves, trying to extract the needles. When he caught Rodney looked he scowled. "McKay, little help here?"

Rodney told Teyla he'd call her back and, after taking another look round, knelt gingerly in front of Sheppard. "Here, let me." With his sleeve pulled over his hands, he began to pull out the small projectiles. Sheppard's breathing hitched, but he didn't jerk away. More for something to say than anything else, Rodney asked, "So umm, does it hurt?"

The contempt was palpable. "No Rodney. It feels great."

So the things didn't contain happy drugs, then. Pity.

"Give me a break, it's not everyday that the _plants_ of this galaxy try to eat us." He got the last one out of Sheppard's arm and glanced a little nervously toward his chest, which had hopefully been protected by the flak jacket. "Should I . . .?"

"Just do it, McKay."

The next couple minutes were possibly the most uncomfortable ones that Rodney had experienced in this galaxy, up to and including the possession of his body by a certain Lieutenant. Physical contact just wasn't something he _did_. He was getting the last couple of needles out of Sheppard's neck when the man commented, almost casually, "I can't feel my fingers."

Rodney's hand froze at Sheppard's neck for a second. "What?"

"My fingers. Can't feel them. Or my toes actually."

Something hard and cold dropped into Rodney's stomach. He kept his eyes focused on the final needle as he pulled it out. "Pins and needles. You'll be fine."

"That animal died of something."

Boredom. Old age. "Quit the pessimism. It doesn't suit you."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I guess I get a little edgy when I'm attacked by _killer plants_."

"We don't know they're killer. Maybe they're just scavengers."

"Scavenging plants, right. And the baseballs full of poison darts are just for kicks."

The rock in Rodney's stomach got a little heavier. He changed the subject. "Teyla and I think it's best to head to the gate separately. Whoever gets back first brings back a rescue team. If we keep a heading of due south, we should be back in—"

"McKay."

"Hours. Shouldn't take long at all. Ronon's not feeling great, but Teyla can handle him. So all we have to do is—"

"McKay!"

He stopped, looked back at Sheppard with a face of frozen calm. "What?"

"Leave me. Get going and don't look back. Keep an eye out for the plants. I guess they don't show up on the scanners."

Rodney snorted, "What did they get you with, stupid juice? As if I'd—"

"McKay, that wasn't a request." There was ice and steel behind Sheppard's voice. But he was slouching against the tree trunk, and his hands were shaking a little in his lap.

"Forget it," Rodney answered, a little surprised by how much he meant it. "I'm not leaving you."

"I'm ordering you to—"

But Rodney wasn't listening anymore. A slither of red about ten metres caught his attention. The roots slithered forward, dug in, and pulled the plant along almost casually. Rodney slid an arm round Sheppard's shoulders. "Move, now."

"McKay I—"

"Now, Sheppard, unless you want us both to be pin cushion pizza at the killer plant buffet!"

Cursing like a marine, Sheppard hauled himself up none too elegantly, giving Rodney a neat bruise between the shoulder blades. They were barely ten metres away when the lurid red petals swung round Sheppard's tree. Rodney paused for a second, then spun, fumbling for his pistol.

"McKay?" Sheppard grunted, clinging to his shoulder.

He fired once, twice, five times, using up the round. Three bullets hit the plant, but it didn't even slow down. Letting loose a decent curse of his own, he readjusted Sheppard's arm round his neck and proceeded for the second time in an hour to run like hell.

* * *

He didn't stop running until Sheppard shouted in his ear for what must have been the third or fourth time that they were safe, going the wrong way, and he had to throw up. It was mainly the last one that got Rodney to stop and let Sheppard collapse to the ground. Almost immediately, the Colonel started retching (how_ revolting_). Rodney sort of hovered, not sure if he should hold Sheppard's hair or rub his back or something. But Sheppard's hair, while annoying, was in no way impeding the vomiting process, and Rodney didn't see how the back-rubbing thing would help, nor did he really want to try it. So he just kept an eye out for signs of red, and when Sheppard was done, he was there to drag him back to another tree so at least he didn't fall face first in his own vomit. 

Sheppard hung forward over his knees, his arms draped loosely over them. He was breathing too hard, face turning all the wrong shades of red and white. Rodney tried to think of something to say that didn't sound stupid. No luck.

"McKay?"

"Huh? What?" He jumped, eyes darting round the trees. "Is there another one? Where? Can you—"

"McKay! Water."

"Oh, yes, right." He pulled off his pack, trying to calm down a little. Not every part of this jungle could have killer plants, could it? They'd walked for hours before seeing the first one. This was just a coincidence. He held out the canteen to Sheppard, avoiding eye contact.

"That might not work so well."

Startled, Rodney looked up. What might not— oh . . . Sheppard's hands hung like dead fish on the end of his arms. That was fast. Too fast.

"You want me to—?"

"Please." Sheppard replied levelly, but he was avoiding eye contact too. At least Rodney wasn't the only one who found this horribly uncomfortable.

The drinking process went about as well as you'd think. By the end of it, Sheppard's jacket got more water than he did. But at least he'd managed some fluids. Water was good if you'd been poisoned, right? Or were you not supposed to give people anything to drink? Well, Sheppard would know. He wouldn't drink anything if he didn't think it was safe, would he? Oh, who was he kidding? Sheppard had flown them both _into a sun_ before because he thought it was a good idea. That it'd worked was not the point.

Sheppard wasn't looking any better. He was leaning back against his pack, eyes closed, mouth tight. Rodney wondered if he was in pain. Paralysis didn't hurt, right? He could ask Sheppard if he wanted something for it . . . But then he might say yes, and they'd really be in trouble.

Before he could do anything, his radio buzzed. "Rodney? Colonel Sheppard? Are you there?"

"Teyla, thank God, are you two alright?"

"We are fine for now. However, Ronon is— Ronon!" A click and then nothing.

"Teyla? Teyla!" Static.

"What happened?" Sheppard was sitting up straighter, skin clammy and pale in a really bad way. Rodney just stared at him.

"I don't know."

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Reviews make me post chapters faster and bring much joy. They only take ten seconds or so :) Pretty please? 


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for all the lovely reviews! To those who put this on alert, bots are down right now so we have to actually check thing :-O! As promised, here is part two. Enjoy!

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Lurch, shuffle, shuffle-step. That was their new routine. Sheppard had the balance of a one-year-old and according to the last grudging report, he'd lost all sensation in his feet. Rodney would have guessed he had no feeling from the knees down judging by Sheppard's 'walk' and it had only been an hour or two. God knows what would happen if they didn't reach the gate soon. No, _so_ not going there.

The Colonel couldn't take much of his own bodyweight, so Rodney was bearing the (considerable) brunt of it. Though it had to be admitted, Sheppard was being pretty co-operative, heroic suicidal tendencies aside. Aside from a couple of brief requests for water, he hadn't said a word. But anyone could tell he was hurting, (Rodney had noticed, case in point). With every step, he felt the Colonel's arm tense around his shoulder and caught the hiss of air through teeth.

Finally, with a sore neck and protesting back, Rodney had had enough. "Break-time Colonel," he announced, stopping in a small gap between the crush of trees and scanning for red. "Five minutes." Okay, so maybe he was enjoying being in charge, just a little.

The Colonel wasn't pleased. "We need to keep moving."

"Oh so _now_ you want to keep moving!" Sheppard's scowl took on new levels as Rodney lowered him to the floor and got him balanced against his pack; Sheppard's arms were little more than dead weight. Trying to be sympathetic, Rodney lowered his voice. "Look, we've both got first aid kits. There has to be something that can—"

"No."

"Why not? Because you're Air Force? Colonel 'Macho' Sheppard who can't even _admit_ he's in pain, let alone accept help."

"So I should be like you? Complain constantly until everyone wants to shoot me?" Sheppard snapped back. Rodney opened his mouth to snap back, but bit his tongue at the last second, and turned away. Sheppard was his teammate, his friend, and he wasn't feeling well. This wasn't helping. He began searching in his pack for nothing in particular.

Behind him, Sheppard sighed. "McKay." He ignored him. "Look, I'm sorry."

Rodney nodded tightly to the floor; "I'm trying to help."

"I know."

"I'm well aware I'm not the best at this kind of stuff. I'm sure you'd rather Teyla—" he bit off the sentence. They hadn't been able to contact her or Ronon since that last broken conversation.

There was a pause. "There's a reason I don't want to take anything."

Of course there was. He kept his voice neutral, "What's that?"

"My calf muscles are cramping. My feet did it before they…went. It hurts like hell. But anything that could help would probably accelerate the..."

"Paralysis. And that would be bad," Rodney finished for him. He turned around because someone needed to be watching the area. "I could help."

"Help?"

"Help you stretch out the cramps. Must be kind of hard to do if you can't move your feet. Or, you know, hands."

There was silence for a minute. Rodney kept his eyes firmly on their surroundings.

"Sure McKay," Sheppard finally replied. "That'd be good."

He shuffled closer and wondered how bad it must hurt for Sheppard to accept _that_ offer. "Which one?"

A fractional hesitation, "left."

He pushed back the toe of Sheppard's left boot, as far as he could. The Colonel's face turned stony, the only movement that of his eyes squeezing shut. After a minute or so the knotted muscles eased a little, and Sheppard opened his eyes again.

"Thanks."

Rodney released the boot, pausing only a little before he asked, "the right one too?"

Sheppard nodded.

Repeating the process, he tried to smile as he remarked, "one good thing about sitting around a lab all day. It teaches you to fix cramps."

Sheppard gave a small strained smile, but said nothing.

* * *

They continued to hike towards the gate, for three hours, four. After a while Rodney stopped checking his watch; it only made the time go slower. They'd been on the planet about seven hours before encountering the plant. But they were moving at half the speed now, if that. The hiss of Sheppard's breathing turned to gasps as cramping muscles protested against the constant movement. Once or twice there was a pause in the stuttering flow of air, like Sheppard wanted to say something, but he never did; and Rodney learnt a long time ago never to ask questions he didn't want answered.

They saw three more of the plants. Two began to come after them but they didn't get close enough to prove a serious threat. It seemed like remarkably ill luck to find so many straight after Sheppard got injured. It could be coincidence of course; they may simply have wandered into the wrong part of the jungle. But Rodney was a man of science, and science didn't believe in coincidences.

Finally, after Sheppard's stumbling zombie-walk had become more of a continuous fall forwards and the slack arm around Rodney's neck started to radiate heat through his collar, he called a stop for lunch. Never mind that it had long gone midday on this planet and neither of them were particularly hungry. "If I have to lug your bony bulk around all day the least you can do is let me eat!" he argued, not that it was much of an argument; Sheppard didn't have an option in the matter. Strange how that wasn't fun in any way.

In the end he just helped Sheppard into his customary slump against another obliging tree, (thank God for trees,) this time dumping his own pack next to the Colonel for something to lean on. Sheppard didn't say anything, just grunting negatively when Rodney offered him a power bar. He hadn't really believed Sheppard would eat it; but Rodney longed for the time, only hours ago when Sheppard would have faked hunger just to avoid scaring him. The Colonel had the complexion of a diseased wraith, a lurid sick-white. But instead of being cold, Sheppard was burning up, as if the blood was boiling off under his skin. Whilst they'd been walking, he'd been able to feel the Colonel shivering from the fever, but now, aside from the occasional spasm of chattering teeth, the shaking had gone. Rodney was no MD, but sometimes you could just tell when things weren't good.

They didn't go as soon as he'd finished his lunch. Sheppard was dozing and Rodney was afraid to mention getting up again. Still, it would have to be faced eventually and things weren't too bad yet, were they? Wraith stunners caused paralysis, but without permanent harm. Maybe this would all wear off before—well, this wasn't the time or place to think about that. Judging by the sun in the sky—what was he, a boy scout? He has a _watch_! Judging by _that,_ mid-afternoon was gone already. If they were going to reach the gate before dark they needed to—

"Damn it!" he was on his feet faster than he'd ever been, "Colonel, we have to move _now_." Flickers of red showed between tree trunks, moving with a horrible grace. Not one, but two of them. He tried to haul the Colonel up, but Sheppard wasn't even trying.

"Colonel!"

"Get out of here Rodney," the _imbecile_ muttered, head down.

"Oh no you don't you moronic foetus of an idiot," Rodney snarled in a tone that reduced his lab assistants to tears every time. "You don't get to play the hero today. I'm just going to stand here until you—"

"McKay, I can't move my legs!" the Colonel met his eyes in a look that was self-sacrificing and heroic and demonstrated what a total bastard he really was. "You have to go."

Rodney stared at Sheppard. "What?"

"_Go _Rodney!" The plant was getting nearer. He could make it. Sheppard was done for, but he—

No.

Cursing a God he didn't believe in, he dragged the Colonel forward, shoving off the man's pack as he pulled him up and over his shoulder. Ignoring the protests of his back, the burning in his legs, and the violent language coming from the man draped over his back, he started to run.

And he kept running. Behind him came the soft hiss of another baseball-sac exploding, and another, those deadly needles flying everywhere. He didn't have time to stop; no time to check Sheppard was all right. He just ran and jogged and stumbled until there wasn't anything left in him and they both hit the floor in a tangled pile. The Colonel groaned, arching his back slightly so he rolled onto his side, his air came in strained heaves. There were no signs of further needles though.

As if it really mattered at this point.

Rodney rolled away from him, sat up and glanced around. No red flowers. Good.

He drew stiff legs up to his chest, running a hand down his right calf muscle. Then slowly, methodically, he began to pluck out the fifteen or so needles that were buried there. Spots of blood welled up from the tiny holes that didn't hurt at all. Not so good.

* * *

Poor boys! If you want to know what happens next, or just want them to survive, leave me a review. Or, you know, leave one anyway? They are like oxygen :)


	3. Chapter 3

Sheppard didn't have his breath back by the time Rodney was ready to go again. But as there was nothing he could do to help; Rodney tried not to notice. Instead he somehow heaved the Colonel over his shoulder again and started walking.

This time there were no protests from Sheppard, only a sporadic mumble that may or may not have been speech, and a steady wheezing of air in and out of tired lungs. Rodney timed his steps to it. _Inhale…one two, exhale... three four_.

He carried on walking even when Sheppard's legs lost all tension and swung like sandbags into Rodney's stomach with every step. He carried on after he tried to take out his water bottle and found he couldn't grip it. He even kept going when his feet cramped and went numb. For a little while, Rodney tried his absolute best to be the hero.

But in the end, he was only human and the stuff in his veins had taken down tougher prey than Rodney McKay. His knees went shaky and he couldn't count on them to keep him upright any more. So rather than fall over and drop Sheppard on his head (which might damage The Hair if nothing else), he stopped in a patch where the trees grew a little thinner and he had a better chance of seeing trouble coming. This was a habit three years, two hundred and three planets, and eighty-nine dashes-for-his-life in the making. He kind of hoped (in a way too embarrassing to admit to) that Sheppard might be a proud of him for this attempt at strategic thinking, even if it was far too little, far too late.

He tried to get Sheppard sitting up against a tree again, but with virtually no muscular control the man couldn't balance. So in the end Rodney took his place against the tree and Sheppard slumped on him. John's head lolled on Rodney's shoulder in a way that would be disturbing if he wasn't too damn tired to do anything about it. Sheppard's air came in hard bursts: In-and-out, in-and-out, pause, repeat.

"Is it just me…or are those things really—after us?" John gasped to the ground after a while.

They were past their usual banter, too tired now; it was a real question. And while Rodney lacked the energy to be sarcastic, he could always find a little more to explain a new theory. The day he didn't have that he'd be dead.

Oh, right.

"Perhaps they are," he hypothesised anyway. "I mean, we only saw that one until you and Ronon were hit." Sheppard's head twitched on his shoulder; before it would have been a slap over the head meaning _stop it_. They didn't talk about Ronon and Teyla anymore. "Maybe the needles injected you with some kind of scent-marker so they can track their prey." He hadn't told Sheppard he got hit yet. Best to go out in a blaze of stoicism.

"You think…they can…smell?" John's voice was little more than choked air.

Rodney almost shrugged, then realised the problems with that, "Why not? They can see."

Sheppard didn't argue the point, just sagged a little more into Rodney. His head slipped off Rodney's shoulder and slid into his...lap. Unfortunately there wasn't a lot either of them could do about it.

"I was right…then," Sheppard added, after they've spent a few minutes getting over that particular invasion of personal space. "Should have…left me."

"Oh shut up," he answered, without animosity, but refusing to lose that argument, any argument with Sheppard. And of course, because this time Rodney didn't really mean it, Sheppard shut up. Typical. He sighed and leant into the tree. He was tired of being in charge; all done now, would like to go home please.

Sheppard's head was still on his leg, he'd been able to feel the heat of his fever coming through the cloth for a while, but it had faded with loss of sensation. Rodney frowned and tried to shake the leg. Pins and needles; he'd be fine with that, if he got some actual movement too. A brief wave of panic swept over him. No legs, he'd got no legs! Damn damn damn, who knew what would go next? What if it shorted out his—no no no no no, _so_ not going there with Sheppard in his lap!

"Sheppard," he muttered, than again, louder, "Sheppard!"

Nothing. The man had either passed out or…no. No matter how bad things had been before, they'd never got to this stage. He thought of a Jumper flying into the belly of a hive ship, thought of a wraith feeding. Almost never. He tried to slap Sheppard, (for revival purposes only), but with no feeling or control of his arm below the elbow it was impossible. So he settled for flapping a palm against his friend's face, "Sheppard!"

No response, nothing audible anyway. He couldn't even check for breathing as Sheppard wasn't facing him and the loose jacket prevented him from seeing John's chest rise, or not. Moving around wasn't really an option anymore. Rodney slammed his head back into the tree and felt like screaming in frustration. Why not? In a little while he probably wouldn't be able to do that either. The skin he could still feel was starting to burn in a weird prickly way that made him want to jump into a lake and scratch every inch of it off.

Oh wait, no hands.

* * *

Time trickled by, it felt like a few minutes, but Rodney couldn't be sure he hadn't dozed off. He felt worse, but it was hard to say how much; he'd felt so bad already. He was freezing, but could feel the fever radiating off him. Occasionally his teeth chattered, but the paralysis seemed to have gone too far for shivering. 

Sheppard still wasn't moving, didn't respond when Rodney called him; which admittedly wasn't very loudly now.

He felt like he should be making use of his time while he still had it, but what was he to do? Sing? Meditate? Admire the scenery—oh damn everything to hell—there they were.

Six of them, like banners amongst the trees. Red and vile and deadly things, slithering towards them. The vegetarian's revenge in all its glory. He automatically reached for his gun.

His arm moved four inches then sagged against his chest.

Damn and blast and oh _God_ he was going to die. Sheppard too, but at least he wouldn't be _awake_ as he was eaten alive. Alive, alive, alive, _alive_, because he had to be if anything was going to be okay ever again.

Rodney gave up the battle and flopped forward, his useless limbs covering as much of Sheppard as possible. A useless, melodramatic gesture that would ultimately accomplish nothing. Thank God no one would ever know.

He shut his eyes.

* * *

Hissing, rustling, and a strange _whooshing _that reminded him of home. It vanished before Rodney could identify it and he hunched a little further forward, as if another inch would make a difference to him or Sheppard. He tried to think of something profound and calming and suitable for a man's final moments; but all he could think of were the biology classes in college, and all the intimate details they'd revealed of the digestion process. They'd repulsed him then; the memory plain terrified him now. 

Then…voices? Yelling, shouting, and an angry 'ssss' from all around. Waves of heat that had nothing to do with fever flared about him. He forced his eyes to open and put every scrap of energy into sitting back up.

Smoke and orange flame everywhere, red and green burning together and black figures amongst the devastation. Was this hell?

His back muscles turned traitor and he slumped forward again, squeezing his eyes shut against the heat. The calm he'd looked for earlier came unbidden for now. Everything was out of his hands, it was alright to do nothing. So, sitting in the middle of fire and smoke and weird alien killer plants, he began calculating pi. He was at sixty-eight decimal places when someone grabbed his shoulders and forced him back against the tree. There was a huge shadow against the too-bright background, and it yelled in his face, all spittle and concern, "McKay!"

He stared, eyes wide, voice shaking a little, "Ronon?"

And then Teyla was there too, two dead people crouching by his side. "Rodney, are you alright?"

He tried to shake his head, but nothing was working, so he prioritised, every muscle in his throat that still worked going into shaping the most important word, "Sheppard—"

"We know," Teyla soothed, and if there were two sweeter words in the English language he hadn't heard them. She twisted round, and he tried to focus at the figures behind her, "Major Lorne!"

There was a shouted conversation that Rodney couldn't follow, but the fire was dying out now. The black figures resolved into marines, all armed with flame-throwers.

Okay, the next mission he went on would have those. Not to mention maximum strength weedkiller, full body armour, and a working Ronon to carry it all.

Teyla turned back with a worried frown, and told them, "the area is clear for now, but we should not linger. The puddlejumper—"

"Jumper?" Ronon was pulling Sheppard away from him, scooping him up like a child. That was good right? Ronon wouldn't bother being careful if Sheppard was dead. He'd just sling him over his shoulder in the proper caveman fashion.

He frowned at Teyla, working to get the words out, "Can't use Jumper here, Too many trees."

Teyla smiled at him and simply pointed up. Rodney followed with his eyes.

Skimming the treetops, a Jumper hovered in the air, the hatch open. Ropes were hanging out and led down to the ground. Ronon was manhandling Sheppard into a harness.

"How—?" Rodney asked as, not to argue with God or fate or the universe, but he'd had himself down as a goner. Teyla just smiled again, "Later."

Then Ronon was back and this time he was the one being carried like a little kid who'd fallen asleep downstairs. He tried to help as they fitted him into a harness, but whether it was the poison or exhaustion, he couldn't seem to move at all. Then Ronon gave the harness a final tug and barked something into a radio, and he was going up and up and up.

There was shade and a lot of blurry movement, and he was lying in the Jumper next to Sheppard who was very still and hooked up to a lot of different things. Carson was there and Rodney thought he might have said something and tried to reciprocate, but couldn't say anything more than, "'Ey Carson," before his voice gave out completely.

People were all around him, talking and asking questions. But they were not geniuses. No sir. He was however, and so knew the best idea, the only idea, was to sleep.

* * *

Sorry for the delay! Had an essay due that I had to write (Kafka, beetles, and literary theory, fun fun!). One more chapter to go! It's already written and will be posted when I've finished checking it. Reviews will help the process :) Thanks to everyone who reviewed so far, virtual cookies to you all! 


	4. Chapter 4

Oh, how mean am I?!? I'm so sorry for leaving this for so long. It's unforgivable. Real life went mad (who ever knew they expected you to work at university!?!) and I forgot about it. Terrible of me, I know.

But here, for your patience and restraint in not slaying the author for her unpunctual behaviour, is the final chapter. Hope you enjoy :)

* * *

Sleep wasn't a refuge this time. It was a terrible oppressive darkness that held him down and choked him. The only relief was tiny pins of light, which tore the black apart from time to time. He heard snatches of sound, fragments of conversation, and once or twice, there were colours. But he was always frozen, couldn't talk, couldn't move, couldn't think; and eventually everything shifted back to black. 

How long it went on like this, he didn't know. Time is a perception of reality passing, and he was somewhat removed from reality. All he could do was wait for it all to end, one way or another. He didn't even know what that meant anymore.

And then at some immeasurable point in time, it ended.

* * *

Rodney always woke up in the same way after a mission. Wide-awake, heart racing, and elbows knocking over anything within range. This time his elbow sent two tubs of jello straight off the bedside cabinet into Ronon, who was inexplicably slouched beside him. He also managed to pull the IV needle out of his hand and the loud shriek that followed had Satedon up and running. The IV, really itchy blanket, and Ronon told Rodney he was in the infirmary. 

He was just trying to remember why when he realised he was A: sitting up, B: clutching his extremely _painful_ left hand, and C: very _very_ hungry.

"I can move," he said, staring at the bright bubbles of blood on his hand, "I can _move_?"

"Aye you silly bugger. Now would you lie down so I can put this back in?" said Carson as he came over, Ronon trailing behind devouring _both_ Jello tubs _simultaneously_, which was just showing off. Carson fussed with the IV stand and started some kind of lecture, which was even more wasted than usual because Rodney wasn't listening.

Instead he was making checks. Feeling in hands? Check! Fingers moving? Check! Feet . . . Rodney shoved off his blanket and swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Legs—

Not _quite_ check; he collapsed in a heap, "ouch!" But half-check because the feeling was back! Ow!

"What _are_ you doing?" Carson demanded as Ronon smirked from a safe distance. "Are you trying to undo all my good work?"

But even slumped in a pile on the floor, Rodney was ecstatic, "my knees are _killing_ me," he rambled as Ronon dumped him back onto the bed. "They _hurt_ Carson!"

"Well if you throw yourself on the floor, what do you expect?" Beckett replied, completely missing the point. "Now keep your voice down, I've got another patient you know."

Oh God. Sheppard. "Is he, I mean, did he—"

"_He_ got woken up by someone shrieking," came a grunt from Rodney's left. "You scream like a girl McKay." Pathetic insults that his kid sister could throw out, check. Very, very slowly, Rodney turned his head.

Curled up on his side under the blanket, hair looking like something Bart Simpson would have disowned, Sheppard looked about as far from Captain Kirk as he ever would. He was positively pouting, and as Rodney stared, the Colonel's IV hand made a deliberate and unmistakable gesture.

And to Carson's amusement, and Sheppard's undisguised annoyance, Rodney laughed.

* * *

Two days after that, three and a half after the hike through the jungle-from-hell he was considerably less cheerful. They'd been released to their quarters, under virtual house arrest until Carson decided otherwise, or until they had the ability to disobey. Rodney's legs still had the consistency of the messhall's custard. And, despite the fact his laptop hadn't been confiscated for once, it was impossible to work because his fingers froze up after a few minutes typing. Carson said it would just take time, and sent nurses round every few hours to 'assist' them with meals and such, a frail excuse for making sure they were behaving. It was a sad day in Atlantis when Carson became a cynic. 

However it was good to get out of the infirmary. At least he had a decent DVD collection and working laptop here (if not working limbs to go with it). In the infirmary the only entertainment consisted of sleeping, trading barbs with Sheppard, and listening to the weird and wonderful tale of how Ronon and Teyla escaped and saved their asses.

It turned out that Ronon was only got hit by a few needles, and despite having a 'reaction' to the venom (Teyla clarified, he'd _fainted_,) the effects had worn off within a couple of hours; at least enough for Ronon to regain his usual speed and bad attitude. Apparently he'd been stung, bitten, and infected with a lot of things during his time as a runner, and they'd just stopped affecting him.

Aside of course, from the fainting.

Anyway, their radio conversation had been cut off due to Ronon's _reaction_, not imminent death. That came a few minutes later when two of the plants appeared. And Ronon was still 'indisposed' (Rodney had at least six remarks to make here, but Ronon looked like he really wanted to kill someone and Sheppard was trying so hard not to laugh, he might not have stopped him.)

Unable to destroy the flowers-of-doom, Teyla decided to make a run for it and had dropped her radio in the process of helping (half-carrying) Ronon, whose radio had been lost at some earlier point. (Ronon went through about four radios a month. He said they were too small; Rodney knew he just wanted more room for his knife collection.) Even after Ronon recovered, it had taken them several hours to reach the gate and another forty minutes to assemble three search teams in Jumpers, as well as medical staff. The massive size of the jungle meant it took a further three hours to find them, 'too bloody long' Carson had added as he fussed with Sheppard's IV stand. Then he'd ordered Ronon to follow him to his office,_ now_. Minutes later they heard a rant so loud and ferocious even Rodney was impressed.

"Ronon . . . forgot to mention his encounter with the plants upon our return," Teyla explained, wincing as the Scot launched into a particularly virulent part of his triad. Rodney nodded, silently vowed never to let Carson catch him in a lie, and tried to remember some of the more impressive phrases for future use.

Anyway, after the heroic rescue, fire-throwers, grenade launchers, hand-to-leaf knife fights (Rodney was sure Ronon was making that part up), Lorne's team had found a 'sample' of the plant that wasn't _too_ incinerated, and Carson had been able to fix an antidote in time. Barely.

No one said the last part, but Rodney had noticed the way Teyla hovered just a little too close, and he'd watched as Carson had left the infirmary to get some sleep in the middle of the day. It had been close this time, very very close.

* * *

His door chimed and he ignored it. One of Carson's minions had already bought dinner, and he couldn't be bothered with his staff today. He was off sick, they could go bother Radek for once. However the caller didn't give up; the chime went three times before a muffled voice came through the door, "wake up Rodney!" 

Sheppard? But how—? "Come in!" he shouted, willing the door open. Ronon and Teyla immediately entered, dragging Sheppard between them, "what are you—?"

"Got bored," Sheppard answered as Ronon dumped him on the bed next to Rodney. "Nice to see you too McKay."

Rodney frowned, "does Carson know you're here?"

"What, our jailer? Of course not!"

"Then how—?"

"Well I just got a check up with dinner, so I've got a few hours before Carson sends someone else round. Ronon and Teyla weren't busy," Teyla raised her eyebrows and Sheppard hurried on, "so I figured we could watch a movie or something. Teyla and Ronon haven't seen half of your _great_ science fiction collection yet."

The sarcasm was just for show; Rodney had it as a fact that Sheppard had seen Stars Wars at least five times. He'd been there. "And which one do you have in mind?"

In response, Sheppard twisted and reached under Rodney's bed, pulling out his DVD collection. He snagged one and without showing, handed it to the infinitely more mobile Teyla. "A classic of course. And perhaps a cautionary tale relating to recent events."

Rodney groaned, "oh no, you haven't!"

He had. As Rodney's laptop loaded the disc, the title came up on screen, _Day of the Triffids_.

Sheppard grinned, "A classic. Budge up McKay." The rest of the team took their seats on the bed.

"So are these things real?" Ronon asked, looking at the cover.

"What? Of course n—" Rodney paused, and exchanged a look with Sheppard. "Well, probably not."

Teyla frowned, "I would like to avoid any further encounters with predatory plant-life, it is…disturbing."

"Yeah, can't shoot it," the Colonel agreed, "next time let's just fight the Wraith again. At least they'll make conversation with their dinner."

Teyla shook her head in her 'earthlings are so weird but I must tolerate them' manner, Ronon snorted and shoved Sheppard a little too hard, nearly knocking him off the bed. As the movie started and calm was restored, Rodney wondered if he could bring up Ronon's fainting fit without further injury. Carson might be a little pissed if he showed up before house arrest was over at least.

It'd be worth it.

* * *

If you enjoyed this fic and would like to see more, or if you have ten seconds to spare and want to help attention-starved writers, please leave a review? Thank you :D 

Mini disclaimer- In the same way I don't own SGA, I don't own Day of the Tiffids either. But it's a fabulous book and you should all read it. All done!


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